


This Old Couch

by Third_Phoenix



Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23773978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Third_Phoenix/pseuds/Third_Phoenix
Summary: Agent Pendergast drops by Corrie's apartment to check up on her. Some port and a creaky old couch lead to a delightful turn of events.
Relationships: Aloysius Pendergast/Corrie Swanson
Kudos: 7





	This Old Couch

Corrie Swanson constantly found herself wishing that she could read Agent Pendergast’s mind. Sure, she was always happy when he would stop by to visit her, but the man was so damn hard to read. Was he proud of her, or did he come to the conclusion that paying for her schooling was a mistake? If he would just show a hint of emotion…

Sitting in her cozy, if not cramped, living room, she couldn’t help but feel a swelling of pride. She was paying the rent with money from her two waitressing jobs, refusing to accept his offer on this account. Pendergast sat in the middle of her secondhand couch, seemingly at ease despite being so obviously out of his element. Corrie’s back was against the armrest, her body turned towards him as she waited for his assessment.

“Miss Swanson, this is a lovely apartment.” The buttery tone of his approval spread through Corrie’s body, pride mingling with…something else. “Not only did you graduate from Phillips Academy top of your class, but your GPA so far is highly impressive.”

The blush that settled over her cheeks spread through her entire body. “It’s all thanks to you, Pendergast. You got me out of Medicine Creek, literally saved my life, and now all this.” She paused, steadying a breath and swallowing her emotions. “I can’t thank you enough. For everything.”

She knew she could never thank him enough; saying it out loud made her feel silly. He had done so much for her; he was the only adult, the only person, to look past her rebellious appearance and have faith in her.

“Sometimes all we need is a push in the right direction. I know you will not disappoint me.” He bent down, retrieving a bottle of wine from his bag. “Now, I know you’re still a few months shy of twenty-one, but I’m willing to bend the rules from time to time, as you well know.”

“That I do,” she laughed, taking a sip from the proffered glass. She was pleasantly surprised at the flavor, something sweet and yet deep, robust. “It’s no rum and Coke, but I think I can drink it.”

“Ah, rum and Coke,” he said, enunciating each syllable in that peculiar way he does. Before taking another sip, he shrugged from his suit jacket, taking Corrie by surprise. It was a little warm in her apartment.

“Do you want ice or something?” That was stupid, no one drinks wine with ice. Do they?

“No, thank you. I do need to tell you something, however.” He was holding steady eye contact, his silvery eyes locked onto hers. “This is a horrible couch.” A fleeting smile graced his mouth as his words settled over her. “We must pick up another one if I am ever to return.”

Corrie adjusted herself more comfortably as she laughed. “Oh, come on, it’s not bad.” Patting the couch, she continued, “It’s comfortable in its own unique, worn-in way. It’s good for chilling, sleeping, fuc—” she caught herself, eyes going wide as mortification washed over her.

“And here I was thinking you were a model of purity.” He had turned towards her, eyes still silvery and the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips. “Couches can be so cramped and restricting; I’ve always been a fan of up against the wall, myself.”

The wine that had just spilled into Corrie’s mouth threatened to dribble all over chin as she spluttered. There was no way he just said what she thought he said. Heart racing, she managed to speak. “I never thought I would be talking about bumping uglies with Special Agent Pendergast!”

“What a colorful expression,” he crooned, honeyed voice conveying the amusement etched on his marble face. “We are both adults, Miss Swanson, but if this conversation makes you uncomfortable, we can always change the subject.” He sipped his wine, glittering eyes closing as the alcohol met his lips.

“Uncomfortable? My dude, I wear corsets and a dog collar.” Adjusting her position. Corrie set her wine glass down, turning to face him. “So, up against a wall, huh?”

“Perhaps because it allows me a good deal of control. And I can see my partner’s face; I enjoy seeing the effects of my progress.” Pendergast’s voice remained neutral, as if the pair were simply discussing the weather outside, his gaze steady on Corrie. “What about you, Miss Swanson? A favorite?”

Her face had to be betraying the casual countenance she was desperately aiming for, but she continued on. “I guess I’ve always like simple girl-on-top; I also like to have control.”

“Ah, perhaps that is why we get along so well.” He set his wine down, still a mouthful left in the glass, before facing her. “It’s like having a rival around, someone to keep pushing you.” The tense anticipation rolling through her body built to a crescendo as his hand settled over her thigh, fingertips inching just below the hem of her skirt. “Alas, I always have the upper hand.”

In a swift movement worthy of Pendergast’s own body, Corrie rolled to him, settling herself on his lap and pushing her palms against his narrow shoulders, pinning him to the squeaky couch. “Is that so?”

Surprise washed over his face for only a moment, before a weak smile spread over his mouth. “Brava, Miss Swanson. You have, indeed, seemed to have won this round.” Gently easing her back, his enchanting eyes locked onto hers. “We have, however, seemed to have crossed a line. Brought on by this fine port, no doubt, and I sincerely apologize; you’re not even of legal age to drink and here I am confusing you. Let us end this before it becomes even more awkward.”

Corrie’s body slumped, hands slipping away from his shoulders as white-hot embarrassment coursed through her. “Oh, right. I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, standing to move away from his tense body.

But then his long fingers were around her, hands gripping her waist before being drug down. Head spinning with confusion and momentary panic, Corrie’s back hit the soft cushions of her couch, head cradled in one of Pendergast’s hands as his lithe frame settled on top of her.

“You have a lot to learn, my dear,” he purred, silvery eyes going dark as his pupils dilated. Staring into her eyes for just a moment, gauging her reaction to this situation, he found no reluctance, and so leaned down, gently kissing her parted mouth.

Refusing to let him direct this show, Corrie’s fingers snaked through his soft hair, gripping tightly and pulling him closer. If he was going to pin her down, she was going to be as rough as possible. He didn’t fight against her, his body pushing more firmly against hers as he deepened the kiss. A shiver of delight rolled up Corrie’s spine as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, the bittersweet flavor of the port still on his tongue.

Control slowly ebbing away, Corrie’s hand roamed his body as her tongue continued its exploration of the agent’s mouth, his tightly coiled muscles, usually so well hidden beneath that crisp suit, firm beneath her fingers. In response, his hips bucked slowly yet aggressively against her own.

His soft lips broke away, a whine of dismay catching in Corrie’s throat before being replaced by a quiet moan; he mouthed at her neck, breath puffing against her sweat-slick skin before his teeth gently nipped, lips kissing away the fleeting pain.

Corrie was about to combust. There was no way, especially after her little display of domination earlier, that she was going to come undone that quickly. Pushing against his chest, she eased him off of her, the agent quickly obliging to her demand.

“Is all well, Miss Swanson?” Pendergast asked, concern showing for the first time. “Do you want to sto—”

“No,” she quickly answered, kissing him quickly but deeply. “Not at all.” She perched herself on his lap again, pleased that he was still hard. “I just want to…” she finished the thought by latching her lips to his neck, excitement exploding in her belly as he actually rolled his head back, exposing his throat to her wandering mouth. “That seems to be the spot,” she mused.

“Well done, Corrie,” he choked out, grinding his hips beneath her, his accent thick with lust. Corrie. He rarely used her first name; his walls were coming down with each spike in arousal. Encouraged, she rolled her hips, eliciting little moans from him; she could get off just by watching the pleasure etched on his beautiful face.

“I like you like this,” she whispered, tentatively cradling his face in her hands. “It’s like you…trust me.” She lowered her eyes from his penetrating gaze, suddenly ashamed of voicing that thought.

Eyes flicking between hers, he shifted, lowering himself to his back and allowing Corrie to straddle him. “Show me your worst,” he answered softly, large hands enveloping her own face before falling to his sides, relinquishing control over to Corrie completely.

Despite his gentle voice, Corrie made no attempt at moving slow. Sliding her fingers beneath the buttons of his carefully-pressed shirt, she roughly ripped it apart, buttons flying as she exposed his torso.

“Thank you for that, Miss Swanson,” he mused, eyes watching her greedily take his body in. “Luckily for me, Proctor is a man of little curiosity.”

But Corrie barely heard him, her roaming eyes taking in every feature of his pale torso. His skin was smooth, but unbelievably riddled with scars and, what looked to be a few fresh wounds. For a moment, grief overtook her; she felt sorry that so much pain had been inflicted on him. Hesitantly, her hands roamed his chest, making their way down his tight stomach before stopping just above his pants, her fingers teasingly dipping beneath the waistband. Her touch was slow and gently, afraid the scars would hurt should she brush over them.

“Do not fear, Miss Swanson,” he whispered, one of his hands pressing hers more firmly against himself. “They look worse than they are, and you needn’t be so gentle; I expected more from you.” A cocky smile found its way to his mouth, giving Corrie the permission she didn’t know she was waiting for.

“You talk way too much,” she laughed, dragging her tee shirt over her head and draping it across his mouth, shoving some inside to stifle him. “There we go.”

Slowly, trying to control her shaking hands, she undid his belt, Pendergast’s hips rising to assist her as she dragged the leather through the loops. With a devilish smirk, praying her attitude was confident and not belaying the nervousness creeping up her spine, she worked open the button and drew down the zipper.

Sliding her hand into his pants, she brushed against his boxer briefs, stroking him through the soft material. The agent’s eyes fluttered closed, body relaxing into Corrie’s couch cushions. Biting her lip, trying not to move too fast, she slid her hand into his boxers and grasped him; exhilaration rocked her body at the soft moan she elicited from him at the contact.

After a few moments of stroking him, his hips slowly rocking in sync with her, Corrie slid down the agent’s body, taking him in her mouth. A shocked gasp escaped him, his pale fingers entangling in Corrie’s black and purple hair, her shirt abandoned on the floor.

Listening to his choked moans, his fingers tightening in her hair, Corrie couldn’t recall ever being more turned on in her life. Managing to slide her panties off from beneath her skirt, Corrie released Pendergast, shimmying up to his lap and lowering herself onto him.

“Impatient,” Pendergast teased after a sigh of relief.

“I just thought it was about time I got some pleasure, too.” Her smirk of defiance was quickly replaced with pleasure as the agent’s hips moved, the couch creaking beneath them.

The exhilarating rush that Corrie got as Pendergast’s hands roamed her body was unimaginable; he was guiding their rhythm, one strong hand wrapped around her right ribcage as he bounced her up and down, the couch a symphony of creaks amidst his quiet moans and her stifled screams.

They moved like this, their bodies finding a perfect tempo, reacting splendidly to each other’s touches. Pendergast’s hair, usually so well-kept, was ruffled and damp with sweat, strands sticking to his porcelain forehead as he choked back his moans.

Body plummeting towards the abyss, Corrie glanced down to peer at his handsome face; his steely eyes, hooded with lust, were locked onto where they connected, watching their performance. Bracing her hands against his chest, flushing lightly as he got closer, Corrie allowed herself to tumble over, shouting out her complete and utter pleasure.

Nails raking down his chest, the action only brought Pendergast to his own end, his thickly accented voice murmuring her name amidst a slew of gasps. A few moments of silence followed, Corrie’s ragged breathing slowly returning to normal, slight shivers rocking through his body; it was cute that he trembled afterwards.

“Miss Swanson?” His voice finally broke the heady silence, his long fingers caressing up and down Corrie’s bare back as she slumped against his chest. “Do you remember when we first met and you thought I was trying to procure a sexual relationship?”

She chuckled, nuzzling herself against his smooth chest. “I seem to recall you saying that it would be ridiculous and out of the question.”

“Alas, it would appear I was wrong. And I was delightfully wrong about your tongue piercing.”

Laughing, Corrie pushed off against his chest, straddling him to peer down at his handsome features. Did this really happen?

“Miss Swanson?”

“Hmm?”

“I think we’ll pick up a new couch for you tomorrow morning.”


End file.
